


with a heart of doubt

by peaceoutofthepieces



Series: Skam Bingo 2020 [5]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Jens is dumb, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mutual Pining, Robbe is still a sweetheart, Sander is in love, This was supposed to be a short crack fic, but no actual scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceoutofthepieces/pseuds/peaceoutofthepieces
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to become athing.But it does.Jens argued against Sander’s ‘one night stand’ jab, but that’s what he’d expected it to be.One night.He’d thought,It’s just to see.He’d thought,It’s just Sander.He hadn’t expected to very much like what he saw. He hadn’t expected it to be so addictive.ForSanderto be addictive.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Jens Stoffels
Series: Skam Bingo 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729147
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	with a heart of doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leoniejulie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoniejulie/gifts).



Jens’s first instinct, of course, is to go to Robbe. It’s natural enough, isn’t it, to want to go to your best friend when you’re heartbroken? Is that what Jens is? Heartbroken? 

He supposes he is, but he also feels like he’s already gone through the worst stage, so it isn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Finding out that his girlfriend was cheating on him kind of tops the pain of the following breakup. Jens supposes it was inevitable, after everything. Still, it hurts. Your girlfriend having zero trust in you, cheating on you herself, and then breaking up with you is supposed to hurt, right? Jens shouldn’t feel _bad_ about it. He shouldn’t feel like it’s his fault. Right? 

But hadn’t he been the one to cheat first? To lie? 

Jens is tired of thinking about it. He doesn’t want to think anymore. He wants to sit with Robbe and maybe get high. He doesn’t want to be hurt and he doesn’t want to be angry and he doesn’t want to be ashamed. He doesn’t want to be anything. Robbe doesn’t make him be anything. Robbe just lets him _be_. 

But when Jens knocks on his door, it isn’t Robbe who answers. 

It’s Sander. 

Jens blinks. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Sander replies, brows furrowing as his eyes make a quick examination of Jens’s face. “Are you okay?”

Sander...isn’t Robbe. But he is one of Jens’s best friends. 

They’d met Sander at the skate park three years ago, without a board but with a fancy new camera slung around his neck. Too fancy, Jens had thought at the time, for a fifteen year old. But Sander had handled it like a pro, and when his lens had made its way to Jens and Robbe, they couldn’t quite resist asking about it. They’d regretted it, slightly, when they were immediately subjected to Sander’s energetic explanations and excited questions. He was a little much, then at the very beginning, but there was something enchanting about him that drew the boys in and kept drawing them back. He’d had his own group of school friends, but his relationship with them all had seemed mostly casual. 

For some reason, Jens and Robbe stuck more, and they had become Jens and Robbe and Sander. 

“Uhm.” Jens shakes his head. He doesn’t know why the sight of Sander has thrown him. He supposes it’s just that he’d been so intent on seeing Robbe. On being able to talk to Robbe. “I was just looking for Robbe.”

Sander takes a step back and holds the door open, letting him in. “His mom’s been a bit...down today again.”

Jens hesitates with his jacket halfway off. “I can go if—“

“Don’t be stupid. He always feels better when you’re here.”

“I don’t think I’ll be very good at cheering him up right now, that’s all,” Jens admits, halfway down the hall. His throat feels dry. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. He doesn’t want to make Robbe feel worse. 

Sander turns back to him. His gaze is unusually searching, probing. Jens wonders what he sees. He’s so often blindsided, when it comes to figuring out what Sander’s thinking. Robbe’s much better at it than him, but Robbe’s more caring than he is. He’s also had the thought, now and again, that Sander hides himself better around Jens on purpose. Jens can’t complain, because it goes both ways. Neither of them are fond of dealing with their emotions, and they’re even less fond of talking about them. It’s never surprised Jens that they don’t communicate as much on their own. 

Instead, they work in other ways. The hand Sander sets on Jens’s shoulder is enough, as is the repeated, “Really, Jens, don’t be stupid.” He slides the hand around to the back of Jens’s neck and squeezes, but the touch is gone before Jens has enough time to appreciate it. “If Robbe knew you were upset and didn’t go to him, he’d kick your ass.”

Jens snorts. “You mean he’d give me the kicked puppy look and attempt to be stern and then give me a hug. And maybe ask you to kick my ass. But you wouldn’t do it either.”

“You never know. I might be really bored,” Sander shrugs. “Or maybe I’d just use it as an excuse to touch your ass.”

Jens shoves him forward—almost into Robbe’s door. He catches himself and laughs, and Jens shakes his head. 

Still, he feels a little better. 

Robbe’s sat on his bed, tucked up against the headboard and curled around a pillow. Jens feels bad already. But he can also feel everything building back up in him, the pressure he’d been holding back since he’d left Jana’s, the tightness in his chest and ball in his stomach that reminds him he’s in pain. Robbe looks at him, roams his eyes over his face once, and clambers off the bed. “It didn’t go well?” 

Jens shakes his head, not looking at either of his friends. “She thinks it’s best if we’re done. We probably should never have been together in the first place.”

“Did she say that?” Robbe asks. 

Jens stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. His throat feels tight, itchy, like it’s closed-up. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to swallow it down. His eyes sting. It doesn’t matter how much he blinks. He doesn’t have to say anything else for Robbe to step forward and wrap him up in a hug, arms sliding around his torso and curly head tucking under his chin. Jens hugs him back and ducks his head down onto Robbe’s shoulder instead. He can see Sander scrutinising him, and he’d rather he not see the few tears that have escaped. 

“It doesn’t matter, Jens. If it wasn’t working, it’s better this way. And it really wasn’t working,” Robbe points out, and Jens can only nod. He usually isn’t so keen on letting Robbe hug him like this, on being this emotional, this _vulnerable_ , but he can’t help but cling to his best friend now and let it ease away some of the sting. Robbe doesn’t say anything else. 

Sander doesn’t say anything at all. He does step up to them and wrap his arms around them both from the side, resting his head against Jens’s shoulder. It draws a giggle out of Robbe, which eventually draws a laugh out of Jens. He can feel Sander’s grin against his cheek when he kisses it, then Robbe’s, evidently pleased with himself. No matter how he feels about Robbe’s affection, he’s never quite been able to get used to Sander’s, the easy and confident way he dishes it out. Maybe it’s his age, that extra two years that makes him a bit more sure of himself. Jens doesn’t know. At the moment, he doesn’t care. Just this once, he lets himself bask in it. 

~^~

He isn’t entirely surprised when Sander shows up at his door the next day and asks Jens if his parents are home. When Jens tells him no, they’d taken Lotte out for the day, he grins and slips a baggy of weed out of his pocket, brandishing it at Jens proudly. Jens takes it from him and Sander shrugs off his backpack. Jens watches as he pulls out a packet of beer, and holds it up as well, brows raised. 

Jens says, “I fucking love that you’re eighteen.”

Sander’s grin only widens. 

They migrate to Jens’s bedroom and Jens cracks the window open as Sander rolls a joint, sitting on the edge of Jens’s bed. Jens falls on his back next to him and looks at him curiously. He only hesitates for a moment before asking, “Should I be letting you smoke this?”

Sander looks around at him and rolls his eyes. “You sound like Robbe.”

Jens only shrugs. 

“I got it. I shouldn’t be letting you smoke this.”

“Okay, okay, point taken.” 

Sander grins and flops back beside him after lighting the joint, taking a drag and turning his head towards Jens before blowing out the smoke. Jens makes a face at him, but lets Sander set the joint between his lips before reaching up to hold it on his own. He’d felt horrible about lying to Jana about this, especially when he realised how upset and anxious she’d gotten. But, he supposes, it doesn’t matter what Jana thinks of him now. The fact that he’s still thinking about Jana means he hasn’t smoked enough yet. 

“Really not sure I should've brought you this. Definitely don’t think we should open the beer.”

“You’re no fun,” Jens mumbles, lightly. The truth is, Sander’s probably the best person to make _him_ fun right now. Robbe is good for comfort and letting him work through his feelings. But Sander drags it out of him and makes him forget, and sometimes that’s what Jens wants more than anything. He doesn’t want to let the hurt simmer so it’ll pass. He wants a break from it. Sander always knows when to give him a break, and he always knows how. Even without the weed and alcohol, he’s able to bring Jens around, to get him out of his head. Sometimes Jens hates his head. 

Sander raps his knuckles against Jens’s temple. “What are you thinking about? You’re definitely thinking too much.”

“Says you,” Jens retorts. He notices Sander hasn’t asked for the joint back, even though it’s been hanging idly from Jens’s hand. He notices Sander hasn’t said much at all. “Why are you so quiet, anyway?”

Sander shrugs. “I figured you’d appreciate quiet. I don’t know what you want me to talk about. I’m waiting until you get a little bit high. Then I can say whatever and it doesn’t matter.”

Jens laughs and bumps his shoulder. He drags a hand over his face and sighs. “I knew it was coming. I thought I was more prepared for it.”

Sander’s silent for a moment. Jens thinks he might’ve thrown him. Sander probably hadn’t expected him to talk about it. “I don’t think it matters how prepared you are,” he says carefully. 

Jens looks over at him, trying to figure out what he’s thinking by examining his side profile. It doesn’t give much away. “Maybe.”

“When you’re in love, the last thing you want to think of is it ending. You can’t even imagine it. Not loving them anymore. And you can’t remember a time when you didn’t love them. Like you know the feelings weren’t always there, but you can’t remember what it felt like to not have them. So you can’t fathom going on without them again. The idea of it seems impossible. Scary. Even if you think you’re prepared for it to happen, losing someone you love is bound to hurt.” Sander looks back at Jens. “And you love Jana, right?”

Jens’s throat is suddenly dry, and he’s glad he hadn’t taken an extra puff. Maybe the beer is a good idea. He swallows and nods. “Yeah.”

Sander nods and directs his gaze back to the ceiling. He takes the joint from Jens’s limp fingers and puts the end in his mouth. Jens thinks, _Who are you in love with?_

They pass the joint back and forth, Jens having it for longer than Sander. They don’t open the beer. Conversation turns to lighter subjects, and Jens is relieved, to be able to stop thinking and talk shit and laugh at Sander’s dumb jokes. There’s no longer a crushing weight on his chest, a fist squeezing his heart in an attempt to drain it. He doesn’t feel the hurt so much. He feels at ease. 

Thank god for weed. 

At some point, his fingers drift to the white strands of Sander’s hair, and Sander tilts his head over and raises a lazy brow at him. “I still can’t believe you bleached it. But I really can’t believe how much it suits you.”

Sander smiles. “You think it suits me?”

“Everything suits you,” Jens rolls his eyes. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Sander’s smile widens into a grin as he suddenly sits up, pulling his legs onto the bed and sitting criss-cross by Jens’s side. “I bet you could pull it off.”

Jens snorts. “I don’t know about that.”

“You should dye it with me. I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m gonna pretend this is the weed talking.” Jens raises his brows, amused. It’s nice, at least, to see Sander in a good mood. After they’d found out about Sander’s bipolar roughly a month after meeting him, it had taken Jens a while to figure out if his excitable moods were a consequence of it. He’s since come to realise that they aren’t—that it’s just Sander, goofy and passionate and amazing on his own. 

He rolls his eyes now and falls down on his side, facing Jens. “You _could_ pull it off.”

“Totally,” Jens agrees, just to be annoying. Sander digs a foot into his thigh and he laughs. “Why’d you come over?”

“Is that not obvious?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Jens looks over at him. There’s a new hesitance in his expression, and Jens hates himself for putting it there. For making Sander think he’s unwanted. Jens is shit at showing it, isn’t like Robbe, but he pretty much always wants Sander around. “No.”

Sander’s smile returns. “So I’m here. Just stop thinking so much.”

Jens nods. He brings the joint back to his lips and draws more smoke into his lungs and sits up. “Bowie?”

“Is that even a question?”

Jens finds his phone and puts on Bowie. 

Somewhere between Starman and Space Oddity, his hand finds its way back into Sander’s hair. Maybe there are heightened sensations from the weed, but it feels extra soft as it slips through his fingers, and the repetitive motion is somewhat comforting. He’s realised, somewhere between actually getting high and staring intently at Sander as he laughs, that he’s stopped feeling the overwhelming hurt. That he’s stopped thinking about Jana. That he’s stopped thinking entirely. There’s only the music he’s still trying to become familiar with and the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts and Sander. 

Sander, who turns to Jens and says, “It’s Jana’s loss, for letting you go.”

Sander, who knows Jens just as well as Robbe and better than Jens himself. 

Sander, who Jens leans in and kisses. 

Sander, who has lips as soft as his hair. 

Jens isn’t thinking about anything else when he does it. All that makes it into his brain is Sander’s hair clutched in his fingers, the tiny sound that comes out of Sander’s mouth, the feeling of Sander’s lips against his, moving slowly, kissing him back. 

Sander’s hand comes to cradle the back of his head and pull him in closer, and Jens’s breath escapes him in a gust, and he presses it back into Sander’s mouth. He’s never been kissed like this. Like a fight. Sander kisses like he has something to prove, and Jens doesn’t quite understand the feeling that shoots through him at teeth on his bottom lip and a tongue in his mouth. It leaves Jens pliant and molten beside him, his stomach thrumming with heat and chest tight with a lack of breath. Sander is clearly used to control. 

But so is Jens. 

He pushes Sander onto his back and follows the movement, hovering over him without disconnecting their lips. Sander sucks in a breath and then his hands are on Jens’s chest and Jens thinks _oh_ and then he’s being pushed, up and back and right onto the far side of the bed. Sander has thrown him off with one forceful flip of his arms. 

Jens once again lies on his back on top of the sheets, winded. Sander’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. He rakes them through his hair and says, “Fuck.”

And suddenly reality snaps back into place, and Jens realises what he’s done. 

“Fuck,” he agrees. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and stares at Sander’s back, eyes wide. “Fuck, Sander, I didn’t—I shouldn’t have…”

_What the hell was that?_

Sander is still for a moment. Then he twists around and looks at Jens. Jens feels antsy under the eye contact, but he doesn’t dare break it. He’s the one who fucked up, he’s the one who’s responsible. He shouldn’t hide. 

Sander starts laughing. 

Jens can only stare at him as he rubs a hand over his face again and his shoulders shake. He looks at Jens through his fingers, laughs harder, and repeats, “Fuck. I don’t know why I’m laughing. I shouldn’t be laughing. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jens shakes his head, but a small smile starts growing on his face as he watches Sander collect himself. “Is my kissing that bad?”

Sander understands. He jokes back, “You can always blame it on the weed.”

Jens swallows, licking his lips. “I guess the weed probably had something to do with it.” The weed must have had everything to do with it. He hadn’t been thinking at all, and it had driven him to a moment of...madness? Stupidity? Whatever it was, it doesn’t mean anything. Whatever it was, he can’t let it ruin things. He doesn’t even _like_ guys. He definitely doesn’t like _Sander_. It would be ridiculous. He feels ridiculous. 

Sander has sobered up quickly, and his expression is now somber, almost apologetic as he looks at Jens. “I should’ve stopped you at the start. I get it. You’re upset and high and I’m here and I’m unbearably attractive and you just made a dumb, split second decison.”

“You’re fond of yourself,” Jens grins, even as his mind latches onto ‘dumb’ and thinks _no_. Maybe he’s smoked more than he thought. Or maybe he just can’t handle it as well as he thought. Maybe that’s why Jana’s always been so against it. 

At the thought of her, the familiar ache is back in Jens’s chest, and he almost sighs in relief. 

Sander reaches over and flicks his forehead, grinning back. The ache spreads. He says, “It’s okay. We’ll just forget about it.”

“Yeah,” Jens says. “Forget it. Thanks.”

~^~

**_Ten Months Later_ **

Sander feels out of place. That’s not entirely unusual for him, but it feels unusually prominent. His head’s deciding to fuck with him, he thinks, his anxiety flaring up and making his skin prickle. He flexes his left hand in hopes of releasing some of the tension, his right wrapped around a bottle of beer. It stayed cool long enough to leave his hand uncomfortably damp, for him to take a few sips, but now it’s disgustingly warm as it slips down his throat. He doesn’t care. He hadn’t wanted to drink any more anyway. He hadn’t really wanted to drink at all. Like Robbe likes to remind him—it’s not good for him. 

If only Robbe were here, he might not feel so out of place. At least with Robbe, Sander can be himself. He can breathe. He doesn’t have to do _anything_. If he could just be with Robbe...or Jens. 

But Robbe had needed to leave early, and Jens is dancing with a girl in the corner, her arms around his neck and his around her waist. 

Sander could probably be dancing with someone. A few people have approached him already, mostly girls from the boys’ year, and he’d kindly turned them all down with a smile and a brush-off comment. He isn’t interested in talking to anyone, nevermind dancing or hooking up with them. He really just wants to go home, too. 

But since he’s trying to improve his relationship with Moyo, leaving his birthday party probably isn’t the best plan. 

Even though by this stage he’s so plastered he probably doesn’t even realise who’s here, and he especially isn’t paying attention to Sander. 

Sander isn’t paying attention to him either. Sander would prefer to not be paying attention to anything. 

But he’s paying attention to Jens. 

He can’t stop paying attention to Jens. To his slightly tipsy movements, body swaying awkwardly along with the music. To his hands, splayed casually on that girl’s waist, shifting as she presses closer to whisper in his ear. To his hair, the dark strands of it messy and caught in one of her hands. To his lips, pulled up in an easy smile, moving invitingly as he says something in response. The lips that Sander has kissed. 

Jens isn’t doing anything unusual, but he has Sander completely entranced. 

As usual. 

He takes another sip of his beer, and it’s heavy and gross in his mouth. He screws his face up and abandons the bottle on the table next to him, wiping his palms on his jeans. His heart’s beating too fast, in that way Sander recognises as discomfort, anxiety, and urgency all at once. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off of Jens. 

He forces them away now and starts making his way through the crowd, sweaty in his leather jacket as he slips between unfamiliar people. He accidentally bumps into Noor, and she flashes him a grin before going back to dancing with Jana and Britt. He pointedly does not bump into Jens, or look at him as he passes. Jens is too engrossed in his dancing to notice him, anyway. 

He wanders down the hall and finds an empty bedroom. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight and closes the door behind him, instantly moving to crack open the window. He props himself up on the sill and digs an already-rolled joint out of his pocket, then his lighter. He just needs a moment. To sit on his own and clear his head. 

His plan is obviously shit, because he barely gets two drags in before the door opens. 

Of course it’s Jens. Of course. 

Sander expects the girl to be with him, but Jens comes in alone and closes the door again. He smiles easily at Sander. “Thought I saw you sneak off. Hard to mistake that hair, though. Do you mind if I join you?”

Sander should tell him that he does, in fact, mind. He snuck off for a reason, and that reason was to be alone so he could fix some of the mess in his head. Not be confronted by the source of it. 

He holds the joint out in offering. 

Jens grins and takes it, mirroring Sander’s position on the windowsill. It’s not really big enough for the two of them. Their knees bump together multiple times per second. Neither of them move. They sit in relative silence, the only sound Jens’s long breath as he blows out a stream of smoke. Jens directs his gaze out the window, one corner of his lips tilted up as he watches the crowd on the street below, hooting and hollering. They’re just _asking_ to be reported by the neighbours. Jens’s amused little head shake is worth any irritation Sander feels over it. 

He knocks his knee against Jens’s purposefully to get his attention. The brunette looks at him, expression open and lazy, but surprisingly focused. “Did you just follow me hoping I had weed? I’m sure you could’ve just gotten some from Moyo.”

Jens huffs a laugh through his nose and raises his brows. “Bold of you to assume I don’t have my own.”

“Oh so you’re really just here to take advantage of me, huh,” Sander says, and they both laugh properly, Jens’s shoulders shaking and teeth on show. Of course, Sander thinks, his focus has gone full circle and returned to Jens’s lips. Of course. 

Jens says, “I would never. And anyway, what makes you think I followed you?”

Sander gestures between them and then at the room in general, unimpressed. “And you said ‘thought I saw you sneak off’. You were looking for me. You watched me.”

“You were watching me first.”

Sander looks out the window, even though he can feel Jens’s gaze on him, steady and probing. He doesn’t bother denying it. He’d be lying, after all. His fingers curl around his thigh, digging into the flesh in an attempt to keep him centered. If he looks at Jens again, or lets this stream of conversation continue, he’ll do something stupid. Like punch the other boy. 

Or, more likely, kiss him. 

The problem is, he _knows_ what it’s like. He knows what Jens’s lips feel like against his, knows what his hair feels like between his fingers, knows the sound Jens makes when he tugs the strands. He’d thought, after ten months, that it would be an old memory, vague and faded. But he hasn’t forgotten a single detail. Maybe it’s because it plays on and on in a loop in his head, or simply because he’s so desperate to remember it. 

He knows that he’s wanted it for years, and he knows it’s unlikely he’ll get the opportunity again. 

Or at least that’s what he _thought_. 

Before he was aware of Jens’s heated gaze. Before Jens had followed him to this room. Before he realised Jens has been watching him back. 

He’s still watching him right now. So intently that Sander can feel his eyes burning holes into the side of his face. Curious. Questioning. Challenging. Daring Sander to look back. Even though they never kissed again, even though they ‘forgot about it’, even though Sander never lets himself _hope_ , there are these looks. Over the past month, maybe a bit longer, there have been more and more looks. More and more darkened, watchful gazes. More and more energy, more and more tension, more and more of this _something_ bouncing back and forth between them. It’s as if there’s a leash hooked in Sander’s stomach with the other end wrapped around Jens’s hand, giving a sharp lurch if Sander tries to stray too far. Preventing him from ignoring it, from ‘forgetting about it’. As if he could ever forget that. 

The leash has always been relatively loose, keeping a safe distance, but recently Sander has felt the change. He’s felt Jens giving a curious tug, reeling him in closer. 

Sander can never back down from a challenge. 

He looks back at Jens. 

Jens doesn’t quite smile, but there’s something clearly pleased in his expression, in the interested flicker of his eyes. Sander doesn’t smile, either. He says, “I thought you’d be going to find a room of your own with your dance partner out there.”

Jens cocks his head. Now he is starting to smile. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn’t that usually what you do?”

“Maybe,” Jens shrugs. “Why does it matter?”

Sander shrugs. 

“Were you jealous?”

Sander laughs, too sharp, too loud. “You wish.”

He isn’t expecting Jens to simply shrug again, smile coming out in full. 

He really isn’t expecting him to say, “Maybe.”

Sander says, “You don’t even like guys.”

“I don’t _like you_.”

That certainly feels like a punch to the chest. Sander’s sure it shows, if Jens’s sudden shifting and tight expression is anything to go by. 

“No, you know what I mean. I don’t like you _like that_.”

Sander waits. Then, after half a minute of silence, raises a brow. “Is there a but?”

Jens’s jaw works and he shifts around more, eventually twisting around on the sill to sit with his back against the window, his hip pressed against Sander’s knee, and his eyes on the floor. He looks back up at Sander though before shrugging again. Casual as ever. “But I think I do like guys. And I know I liked it when you kissed me.”

“You mean when you kissed _me_ ,” Sander can’t help but correct. Jens just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling again. “I thought we were forgetting about that.”

“Guess I broke the roles.”

Sander swallows. “Guess we both did.”

Jens’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then he’s pulling the bottom one between his teeth, and Sander is being seriously tested. “What does that mean, Jens?”

Jens shrugs. Sander really wishes he’d stop doing that. “I don’t know. It means I think I’d like to do it again. It means I’m wondering if I’d like to do more.”

Sander almost chokes. He hates it. He’s usually more put together than this. He doesn’t know what it is about Jens that pulls him off balance. Maybe it’s because he’s tugging really harshly on that leash. “With me.”

It isn’t a question. There’s no question here anymore. 

“With you.”

“You’re drunk, Jens.”

“I’ve had one beer. You’ve had even less. Do I look drunk to you?” Sander doesn’t say anything. “Do you need me to do a cartwheel?”

“You can’t do a cartwheel anyway,” Sander says, automatic. Then, before they can derail the subject further, “You don’t like me.”

“And you don’t like me,” Jens says easily. Obviously. “That’s what makes it easy. Curiosity satisfied, no strings attached.”

“So you’re using me to satisfy your curiosity. You thought asking one of your best friends to be your one night stand is...easy?”

Jens falters slightly. “I didn’t say anything about a one night stand.”

“So what? A fuck buddy then?”

Jens winces and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, then passes one over his face. “Fuck. Sorry. I wasn’t supposed to—you don’t have to agree. Obviously. I didn’t mean to make it sound so shitty. It’s just my head’s been spinning the past few months trying to figure it out and I _know_ that I liked it with you and that you wouldn’t like, punch me in the face or whatever so I just—I don’t know. I mean I know you’re hot and you’re...open to such ideas and I thought…”

Sander really can’t listen to this anymore. 

Sander really shouldn’t do this. 

Sander leans forward and kisses him. He grabs his face before he can pull away, holding him in place, showing him he means it. He doesn’t have to worry. Jens sinks into him instantly and buries a hand in Sander’s hair, parting his lips. His other hand moves to grip Sander’s hip, and Sander knows this is a really bad idea. 

He kisses Jens harder as he stands up, hands still holding him in place. He knocks Jens’s legs apart with his knee and moves between them, pressing Jens against the window as Jens’s hand slips under his jacket, then back out, then right up under his sweater. Sander sucks in a breath and feels Jens grin. Sander bites his lips in retaliation. The groan Jens releases in response is probably the best thing Sander has ever heard. In this moment, it beats even Bowie. 

Jens’s hand trails over his skin, fingers dancing over his stomach, and Sander feels the muscles clench as Jens’s other hand tugs at the collar of his jacket. Sander leans back long enough to shrug it off and leave it carefully on the floor, and then Jens is already rucking his jumper up to his chest and Sander laughs, but lifts his arms so Jens can pull it off. He moves back in for another kiss as his own hands find their way under Jens’s hoodie, and he thinks he’s going to discover a lot of new favourite things tonight. Jens’s breath hitching with his lips still connected to Sander’s is as close to heaven as Sander imagines he’ll get. 

He traces his lips over Jens’s jaw, down his neck, pausing to nip and suck and soothe and see what other noises he can drag out. Jens moans quietly in his ear and his fingers tighten in Sander’s hair and Sander ascends. 

But he has to make sure. He has to regain control long enough to pause and make sure. He kisses his way back up to Jens’s mouth and says, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Jens tugs his head back, just slightly, just enough to detach their mouths and meet his eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he agrees. “It’s just to see. Just ‘cause we want to. It doesn’t affect anything else.”

Sander swallows roughly. He’s as tall as Jens, like this. It’s nice, feeling on the same level. They’re on the same level, Sander tells himself. It’s good that this doesn’t mean anything. It means Sander can have what he wants and it won’t ruin anything. It can’t. It’s Jens’s idea. 

“Are you sure you want to?” Jens asks. 

Sander smirks. He feels, suddenly, more in his element. “Are you sure you want me to?”

He traces his fingertips over the bottom of Jens’s ribs and revels in Jens’s shiver. He drags Sander into another kiss, slack mouthed and sloppy, and assures, “If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you. Right now, you need to stop talking.”

“Are you sure?” Sander raises a brow. “So many of them love it when I talk.”

“Yeah, well I bet if you’re that good with your mouth, there are better things you can do with it.”

Sander tries not to let it surprise him. But there’s nothing stopping the heat pooling in his stomach and the arousal that shoots through him. He draws his hands reluctantly away from Jens’s skin and grabs the strings of his hoodie. He leads him away from the window and towards the bed in the center of the room, pulling Jens’s hoodie off as they go. He keeps guiding Jens backwards until he drops onto the edge of the bed, staring up at Sander, and Sander kisses a blazing trail down his body on the way to his knees, where he undoes Jens’s jeans. 

~^~

It wasn’t supposed to become a _thing_. 

But it does. 

Jens argued against Sander’s ‘one night stand’ jab, but that’s what he’d expected it to be. _One night._ He’d thought, _It’s just to see._ He’d thought, _It’s just Sander._ He hadn’t expected to very much like what he saw. He hadn’t expected it to be so addictive. 

For _Sander_ to be addictive. 

It only takes a week after their first rendezvous to crash into each other again, and it’s in the last way Jens would expect. On a Friday night, he’s usually at a party with the Broerrrs, getting drunk, maybe high, probably finding someone to make out with. On this Friday night he and Sander are at Robbe’s, hiding out and playing video games. For once, completely sober. They don’t drink or smoke much, when it’s just the three of them. They pretend it isn’t for Sander, and he’s sure for Robbe it isn’t really. He doesn’t really mind being substance free. But Jens is definitely more aware of himself, when Sander’s around. 

And apparently that’s no longer just in regards to alcohol and weed. 

He’s hyper aware currently of Sander’s feet in his lap, nudging at his wrists every time he gets a little too far ahead of Robbe in the game, dragging a curse out of him every time. His lips pull up in an involuntary smile at Sander’s frequent, easy laughter. His blood thrums under his skin when Sander’s fingers brush purposefully over any part of it, eyes hot and knowing when Jens chances a glance at him. Jens does his best to ignore it and joke along with Robbe. He does, however, devote an extra amount of attention to tracing patterns on Sander’s ankles after passing him the controller. Sander gives no outward reaction other than a bob of his throat. That’s enough for Jens. 

“Hey, Jens, did you manage to get that girl’s phone number the other day?”

Sander stiffens. Jens’s lips curve up in a smile. “What do you take me for, Robbe?”

“So that’s a no, then?”

Jens cuffs the back of his head as Sander laughs. Jens pinches his leg and doesn’t look at him. “That’s a yes, obviously I did.” He shrugs. “I haven’t used it though.”

“Does that tactic really work?” Robbe questions. 

“Some people enjoy a lot of foreplay, Robbe,” Sander says easily, and Jens chokes on his breath. He coughs violently as Sander shoots him an amused look. He sits up to pat Jens’s back, and Jens squirms away from the touch as heat crawls up his neck. He leans back against the wall the instant Sander retracts his hand, smug look still evident on his face.

Robbe flushes. “Funny. I just thought the hard to get thing was always dumb. Like is that actually an idea, that if you ignore her she’ll want you more? Because that’d just make me forget about you.”

“I just haven’t called her because I didn’t want to, Robbe,” Jens shrugs again. “She was cool and fun to flirt with but I don’t see it going anywhere.”

“Even though Moyo thinks she’s the ‘hottest girl in any chem class’?”

Jens huffs. “Do we ever listen to what Moyo thinks? How hot she is isn’t everything, Robbe. Do you go for guys based on how hot they are?”

Robbe’s blush brightens, but he says, “It’s always a good starting point.”

Jens gasps in mock surprise as Sander reaches forward to ruffle Robbe’s hair. He curls an arm around his neck and pulls him to his chest, smiling. “Who would’ve thought our little baby Robbe was so material. So surface-based. I’m hotter than Jens though, aren’t I Robbe? Tell me, according to your expertise.”

Robbe lies against him with an identical smile, and something about it makes Jens’s heart pang. “I would never choose between you and Jens.”

“Aww, because you think we’re equally hot?”

“Because it’d be like deciding which one of my brothers I’d rather fuck. Gross.” Robbe screws up his nose, and this time Jens laughs along with Sander. 

“Glad to know you’re disgusted by us, Robbe,” Jens says. 

Robbe rolls his eyes. Sander snorts. “It’s okay, Jens.” Jens raises a brow as Sander meets his gaze, the devious tinge to his smile completely hidden from Robbe, who’s still resting on his chest, attention refocused on the game. “I wouldn’t sleep with you either.”

As Robbe laughs, Jens flips him up and gives his leg a squeeze. 

It seems obvious, later, for Jens to follow Sander back to his flat and allow himself to be taken apart in the other boy’s sheets. 

He only realises after that this time they have absolutely no substances to blame. 

He does start flirting with other guys, too. He really is genuinely curious, genuinely a little confused, and it doesn’t have anything to do with Sander so much as it was Sander that seemed to set it off. Jens thinks he’s maybe always known, has always had it sitting in his chest, in the back of his mind. Sander is simply what made him confront it. _Kissing_ Sander, that first time. Sander hadn’t pushed or questioned or turned away then. He seemed like a safe option to test it on again. To…make sure. 

Now, Jens is pretty sure. 

It doesn’t bother him much. The idea of being bisexual. Or having only come to that conclusion. He’s a little dubious, a little more nervous, approaching a guy, than he would be if it was a girl. He knows his advances could be returned with more than rejection and embarrassment. He knows his biggest worry isn’t making a fool of himself. 

But it turns out he has a little more luck than he thinks, if this guy’s response is anything to go by. 

Jens thinks his name is Andreas or Anthoni or something like that. He wasn’t really paying all that much attention. He’s more interested in the intensity of his dark eyes, the waves in his brown hair, the light stubble on his chin, the pleased curl of his lips. He’s older than Jens, maybe around Sander’s age, maybe a year older than that. It’s Senne’s party, so he could be anyone, from anywhere, but he’s attractive and he doesn’t know Jens and that’s all he’s looking for. 

“What are you studying?” Andreas or Anthoni asks him, lifting his glass to his lips. Jens wonders why he’s drinking alcohol out of a _glass_ instead of a party cup or a bottle like Jens has. “Or did you decide to forego the wonders of higher education?”

“Uh,” Jens hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I’m still in my last year.”

Andreas (Jens is just gonna go with it) blinks. “Are you repeating?”

“No,” Jens shrugs. “I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen? You look older.”

Jens doesn’t know what to say. He shrugs again. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” Andreas is back to smiling suddenly, hand retaking its earlier position on Jens’s arm. “Sixteen is the age of consent, after all.”

Now it’s Jens’s turn to blink. He thinks it’s flirting. Andreas has seemed like he’s flirting. Jens has been trying to flirt back. But that’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Maybe he’s overthinking it. Maybe the guy’s just very forward. Maybe that’s just a difference with guys in general. He and Sander were always pretty forward, right? The four or so times they’d hooked up, there had been an obvious lead up, both making it clear what they wanted. Why is he still thinking about Sander? He isn’t with Sander. He’s talking to Andreas. 

“So should I ask what you’re hoping to study, then?”

Jens licks his lips. “Something music related, maybe. I haven’t entirely made my mind up yet.”

“You play music? Piano?” Jens nods. “I have a piano at my flat. Maybe you could come play me something.”

He trails his fingers up Jens’s arm to rest on his shoulder, his smile all invitation. Jens’s smile feels a little more forced than before, and he subtly shifts away from the touch. “Maybe, sometime.”

“I’m sure you aren’t too busy right now. Or even in an hour or so…”

Jens starts when he feels an arm wrap around his waist, not realising the guy was _that_ bold, but Andreas hasn’t moved. He stares, blank faced, as Sander presses himself against Jens’s back and murmurs, “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jens isn’t sure what’s happening, but he leans back into Sander automatically, shivering at the warm breath on his neck. He twists his head around to look at him. “Uhm, hi.”

“Hi,” Sander grins, then looks to Andreas. “I see you found yourself a friend.”

“Uh, this is Andreas. He…” Jens doesn’t actually know what he does. He really hasn’t been paying attention. 

Andreas gapes at him, before his expression furrows in anger. “It’s Alexander.”

Jens blinks, lips parting on a response, but he’s already turning around and disappearing into the crowd and Sander is laughing quietly next to his ear. Jens whirls around, taking a step back as he does so and scowling. “What the fuck was that?”

“It looked like Andreas was bothering you. Are you okay?”

“He wasn’t bothering me, he was interested in me. And you scared him off.”

“He was a creep. Jens, he’s like twenty-three.”

Jens falters. “I didn’t think he was that old. I thought he was the same age as you. I just got stuck on the fact that he was hot and actually seemed to like me.”

“The only thing he’s interested in is getting in your pants. Trust me, it’s better that he left.”

“If that’s all he’s interested in, I guess you two aren’t that different.”

Sander scoffs, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’re one of my best friends. While I enjoy my time in your pants, that’s besides the point. That guy was an idiot and you didn’t look like you were going to turn him away yourself so—“

“So you made the decision for me?” Jens raises a brow. He’s unsure where the sudden anger is coming from, but he feels the need to get it out. He’d been perfectly fine on his own. He’s perfectly capable of handling himself. He doesn’t need to be protected or babied. He doesn’t need his decisions made for him. “Since when is it your right to do that?”

“Since we became friends and you started being an idiot. Come on, Jens. You can’t be mad. I _know_ when you’re uncomfortable. I know that you can take care of yourself, but I didn’t think. I just needed to make sure you were okay. If you really wanted to hook up with him, you would’ve brushed me off, or followed the guy. Or at least remembered his name. There are better people here that you could be flirting with, if you want.”

“Yeah, but are any other guys gonna be interested?”

Sander rolls his eyes with a smile. “Jens. Have you seen yourself? There are plenty of guys here already interested. Trust me.”

Jens raises a brow. “Speaking from personal experience?”

Sander shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He’s silent for a moment. “You know you don’t have to prove anything, right?”

Jens furrows his brows. “What?”

“You don’t have to hook up with a random college douchebag at a party to prove you’re interested in guys. I think it’s already fairly obvious, no?”

Jens tips his head back against the wall and sighs. “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“Apparently not.”

“I just—I want to tell them. Robbe, and everyone. Robbe at least. But I don’t want to come out...wrong. I don’t want to do it and then realise that wasn’t right, and have to like, do it again.”

Sander softens. He steps in closer to Jens and lowers his voice to a gentle lilt. “Jens. You’re going to have to come out a hundred times. It’s something that happens over and over again and they’re usually not interested in the specifics, but they definitely don’t look for proof. You’re allowed to take your time and to be confused and to change your mind. You know, of all people, that it won’t make a difference with Robbe. You don’t need to be spot on. You don’t need to be one hundred percent sure. You just need to be comfortable and ready. And you don’t need to sacrifice your dignity to get there,” he adds, with a small gesture to the crowd and a pointed stare. 

Jens swallows, and a weight slides off his shoulders. He knows Sander is right. About himself and about telling Robbe. Maybe Sander knows him better than Jens had given him credit for. Maybe they do talk. Maybe they are close, not in that exact same way as they are with Robbe, but something similar, something just as deep. Maybe Jens has been wrong. Maybe it’s a new development. 

He nods and smiles at Sander, something softer than usual, something warmer. “Thank you. Since when are you good with your words?”

Sander grins, smug. It makes the atmosphere shift instantly, and Jens leans more heavily against the wall, watching him. “I did tell you they like it when I talk.”

Jens hesitates, considers, decides _fuck it._ “Maybe I should see what the fuss is about.”

“Ahh what’s this? Is he looking for sloppy seconds?”

“There’s nothing sloppy about you,” Jens shakes his head. He slides his hand into Sander’s and pulls away from the wall, guiding him towards the door with a, “Come on.”

“Wait,” Sander tugs him to a halt. “Senne has like three spare bedrooms. This way.”

Jens lets Sander lead him. He doesn’t care where they go, once the door is shut and locked behind them and Jens can push Sander up against the wall and his shirt up to his chest. 

There isn’t really a pattern to their endeavors that Jens can find. He can’t nail it down to party fever or comfort masked by lust or any one thing. Nothing changes about their relationship, their friendship, other than this occasional charge between them, this desire to touch and consume and devour. To be touched and be consumed and be devoured. If Jens can settle on anything about their arrangement, it’s that it’s fair. When they do come together, uncover each other, they both give as much as they take. Jens thinks it’s what makes it so thrilling. It’s not just liking all these usual things being done to him differently, being done by a guy. It’s liking doing all these unusual things in return, watching Sander strung up and wanting, watching him come undone under his hands. Or his lips. Or, on that one memorable occasion, without the use of either. 

It doesn’t make any major alterations to their friendship. Certainly no one else seems to notice. 

That becomes obvious when they’re with all the boys at the skatepark, Robbe and Jens and Moyo and Aaron all taking shots at the ramps and Sander with his camera. Jens sometimes feels bad dragging Sander to the skatepark, convinced he’ll end up bored and uncomfortable, but Sander never gives any inclination of wanting to leave. He’s content to wander around with his camera—or to occasionally sit with his sketchbook—and make fun of the rest of them. 

Jens can hear him stifle a laugh now as he slips off his board. He looks around and finds the blonde standing off to the side. Jens flips him off. Sander snaps a photo.

“Ahh, Jens, you can do better than that, man,” Moyo calls. Jens waves him off and picks up his board, trudging over to one of the smaller ramps and dragging himself up to sit on top of it. Moyo quickly joins him, plopping down next to Jens with a sigh and a laugh, knocking his shoulder. “What’s up? That was a pretty sad wipeout.”

Jens gestures at Sander, who’s making his way towards the ramp. “Fucking flash distracted me.”

Sander snorts as he settles in next to Jens, fiddling away with his camera as he shakes his head. “I’m sure it was the flash that distracted you.”

Jens’s skin prickles. He doesn’t understand. Sander isn’t sitting close enough to touch, isn’t emitting any unusual heat. He isn’t even looking at Jens. But Jens knows what he _could_ feel like, knows how close they could be, feels the weight and the heat of Sander’s gaze when it _is_ on him and it’s unbearable. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. It’s not like it’s been long since he’s been… _satisfied_. They’d slept together just two days ago. Maybe it’s a lingering effect, Jens thinks. That must be it. 

Robbe skates over and brings himself to a halt at the bottom of the ramp. He leans in and looks at the camera in Sander’s lap and Sander tilts it towards him automatically. Robbe shakes his head. “I don’t understand how you make us look like that. This is why I said you should take all my photos.”

“Why would you need him to take more pics of you? That camera is only here for you,” Moyo scoffs. 

“Hey,” Sander leans forward to look at him. “My camera loves all the pretty people. It’s here for Robbe _and_ Jens.”

“Woah,” Robbe holds his fist out to Jens, who bumps it. He’d told Robbe, a couple of days after the Alexander incident. That he’s bi. It had been a much different coming out than when he’d admitted his doubts to Sander. Robbe had simply listened patiently to all of Jens’s thoughts and grinned widely and eventually launched himself at Jens in a hug. It’s allowed something in Jens to settle, to ease up and make his breaths come easier again. 

They laugh now as Moyo rolls his eyes and Sander shrugs, unapologetic. Jens bumps his arm. “You have any Instagram-worthy pics of me on there, then?”

Sander shrugs again. “I’m sure there’d be one or two. It’s a little harder to make you look good.”

“Is that so?” Jens raises his brows and Sander hums. “Maybe your camera just isn’t as familiar with me as it should be then.” Sander hums again, questioning this time, and Jens nods, gesturing between the camera and himself. “Yeah, there’s not enough intimacy there.”

“Ah,” Sander nods. “Intimately familiar. I’m sure that could be arranged, but you should probably buy her an SD card first.”

Jens laughs as Moyo lets out a dramatic groan. “God, get a room. You guys really need to actually go out with someone. But if that’s how you actually flirt, good luck. Come on, Robbe, your baby ears don’t need to hear this.”

“Hey, I probably have more experience than you,” Robbe protests feebly, but he lets Moyo tug him away and towards the other ramps, where Aaron is still lost in his own world, attempting to do the same trick over and over. Jens watches them and feels something clench in his stomach. For a moment, he imagines them _knowing_. He imagines any of them finding out that, for the past month and a half, he’s been sleeping with Sander on a fairly regular basis. Something like panic crawls up his throat and clogs up his mouth, clamping it shut for fear that if he opens it, said panic will be released in the form of vomit. 

He turns to look at Sander, in an attempt to see if the same thoughts are suddenly spinning through his head. But Sander is already leaning towards him, and his mouth brushes Jens’s ear as he says, “For once, Moyo has a great idea. I’d love to have you in a room right now.”

Before Jens can do anything more than gape at him, he’s slipping down off the ramp and jogging back to the boys, sidling up obnoxiously close to Moyo to shove the camera in his face. Jens watches Sander’s face break into a wide smile as Moyo shoves him away, looks at the curve of his back as his head falls with the force of his laughter, and decides he should probably sit here for a few minutes before deciding to join them. 

A month and a half of sleeping with Sander. Of becoming _intimately familiar_ with those artist’s hands, all too aware of those pouty lips, and shockingly rediscovering the power of Sander’s voice and exactly why everyone before him had loved it so much. He marvels at how he can know all of this and still see Sander as his best friend, still sit next to him and play a video game or watch him draw or listen to Bowie, and only think about how badly he wants to touch him roughly twenty-five percent of the time. 

A month and a half of sleeping with Sander and not so much as kissing anyone else. 

~^~

Sander can’t really bring himself to get out of bed. 

He also couldn’t bring himself to eat breakfast, or lunch, or to brush his teeth, or to open his curtains. He’d gotten up to pee when he absolutely needed to. But aside from that, he hasn’t moved. He’s stayed very tightly rolled up in his sheets, eyes closed against the rest of the world and a deep ache in his chest. He’s spent the past few hours switching between that indescribable pain and an encompassing numbness, both feelings he’s all too used to. His mother has popped her head in a few times to ask if he wanted anything to eat and, upon receiving no response, has otherwise left him alone. 

That’s the only way he can handle being, when he’s like this. Alone. He can’t bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this, messy and wrong and broken. He hates the idea of transferring this pain to someone else. It’s _his_ pain, straight from _his_ fucked up brain. The best thing he can do is hunker down and wait it out. 

It’s also all he feels like he can manage. Lying in bed. He feels exhausted, even though he hasn’t done anything for the past two days. Emotional exhaustion, he reminds himself. It’s always what gets to him most. What anchors his limbs and makes his lids heavy. He’s too much even for himself. All he can do is wrap himself around his pillow. And, maybe, pretend he’s wrapped around someone else.

_No,_ Sander reminds himself. _Don’t go there._

He can’t afford to think about that right now. About _him_. He can’t allow that want to creep in and consume him in this state. It’ll only make him do something stupid, like reach out. 

And the last thing he’s going to do in this situation, is call Jens. 

He curls tighter around his pillow instead, drawing the covers up over his head and closing his eyes. He doesn’t understand what set this off. He knows, however, that nothing needs to set it off, that these phases can wash over him without any real warning. It works better at throwing him completely off kilter, entirely knocking him off his feet and making him crash harder than he might otherwise. He’s usually able to recognise it better than this, to notice himself slipping, to recognise the darkness hovering around the edges of his mind. He’s just been so _elated_ lately. He thinks that probably would’ve been the best indication. But when his whole being feels overtaken with a sweeping happiness, it’s hard to imagine this so close. 

He knows that his...thing, with Jens, has some effect on it. He recognises this, understands it, then puts it back in a box and shoves it into a deep corner of his mind. Their arrangement isn’t something Sander had ever imagined, in all his fantasies about Jens. Sander had never imagined himself in such a relationship at all. Yet, when the opportunity had presented itself, he’d been completely unable to say no. He thinks that, realistically, he would probably do whatever Jens wanted, any and every time. The idea of Jens wanting him _at all_ had thrown him enough to make him accept. He simply wants Jens in whatever way he can have him. As long as it’s what Jens wants, as long as it can’t ruin the friendship they’ve built between them, he’ll take whatever he can get. Maybe it makes him pathetic. Maybe it makes him a bad person. Maybe it makes him crazy. Still, he keeps doing it anyway. 

Love is supposed to make you crazy, isn’t it? 

Sander has had plenty of people tell him he’s crazy. It makes sense he’s no better here. 

He sucks in a breath and buries his face in his pillow. It’s harder to breathe, like this, especially with the covers over his head, and Sander uses that to regulate his breaths. In for four beats, hold for four, out for four. Until his heartbeat evens back out into a tired rhythm. Then he pulls the cover back down away from his face and keeps his eyes closed instead. The numbness slips back over him slowly, and he relaxes. This is his favourite state, at the moment. He’d rather not really feel anything than feel everything too much. 

A knock on his door makes him bite down a groan. It shouldn’t be dinner time yet. Or is it? Could he have lost that much time? It wouldn’t be a first. Hours have passed in a blur plenty of times when he’s like this, as often as they’ve dragged on. He doesn’t answer, figuring his mother will ask something or get the message and leave him alone. 

Instead there’s another knock. 

Sander swallows down the dryness in his throat, moistens his lips, and manages to croak, “I’m not hungry.”

The door cracks open. Sander huffs. “Mom, seriously.”

It’s quiet, then the door closes again. Sander lets out a breath. 

“Sander,” Jens says. 

Sander rolls over instantly. 

Jens stands there in all his usual glory. Black skinny jeans, ripped slightly at the knees and cuffed above his sneakers, and a red sweater. His hair is slightly wind tousled, as it usually is when he travels by skateboard. Sander doesn’t know what to expect from his expression, since this is already unexpected, but he’s still surprised by it. There’s none of the pity Sander usually gets, nothing careful or hesitant. Jens doesn’t do eggshells. But there is an open sadness there, a hint of pain in his eyes as he looks down at Sander. 

It makes Sander feel awful instantly. This is what he hates. Falling into a black hole, a bottomless pit of distress, and dragging everyone around him down with him. 

He painstakingly pushes himself up into a sitting position in an attempt to look less miserable, and drags a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?”

Jens purses his lips, shrugs. “I’m not gonna try to feed you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sander just sits quietly. He doesn’t quite meet Jens’s eyes, but instead takes in his fill, running his gaze over soft lips and a sharp jaw, up and down the length of Jens until a comforting familiarity settles over him. It hasn’t been long since he had Jens in his room, after all. Although it was a very different situation. 

“Your mom let me in,” Jens continues. “I haven’t heard from you in the past couple of days. I got worried. I mean I figured what was going on, but. I thought I’d come see you.”

Sander lets his head droop, staring down at his lap and picking at the duvet. “You don’t, usually.”

“Usually there’s some pre-warning, or a text. Maybe I just missed you.”

“I’m not really in the mood to entertain you, right now.”

“I expected as much. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to see you. To know you’re okay.”

Sander looks up at him with a wry smile. “I’ll survive.”

“Sander, you don’t have to push through this without talking to anyone. You know we’re here. Even if you don’t want to talk, we can still be here.”

“I don’t _want_ you to be,” Sander says, even though he isn’t sure that’s true. Even though he’s pretty sure it’s a lie. “I don’t want you to see me like this, I don’t want to say stupid shit to you when I’m like this, I don’t want to make you sad with me like this. I don’t want to _be_ like this but I am, and the only way I can handle that is not letting it take over. I don’t want you to think of me and see this. I don’t want this.”

“But you have this,” Jens says, forceful but gentle. “This is only a part of you, but it’s still a part of you. You don’t have to hide it and deal with it on your own. You’re always there for us when we’re going through shit. This is the same.”

Sander’s shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence. “It’s not the same.”

“It should be,” Jens stresses. “It should be the same. Sadness is sadness, wherever it comes from, and if you’re going to come to my house with a bag of weed and a packet of beer when I feel like shit then I’m going to come check on you when you’re like this.”

Sander only closes his eyes helplessly, clenching and unclenching his fingers in the thin material of the duvet cover. Anything to stop him from reaching out to Jens and clinging on for dear life. That’s not part of their arrangement. It isn’t really part of their friendship, either. So he sits in silence and he waits, praying silently that Jens will get fed up and leave him alone and equally hopeful that he’ll stay. 

“You can tell me you want me to go but I know you, Sander. I’m here. Just stop pushing me away.”

Sander fists his hands in his hair and shakes his head, sucking in a breath. “I can’t.”

“You can, Sander,” Jens says softly. He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough for Sander to reach him but far enough away to not be overbearing. Sander tightens his grip in his hair. “Look at me. Sander.”

Sander shakes his head rapidly and sobs, “No.” Then, again, over and over, “No, no, no, no—“

“Sander, hey, hey, Sander,” Jens shifts towards him, voice gentle and soothing. He takes Sander’s hands and carefully pulls them away from his hair even as Sander fights the touch, squeezing his hands reassuringly before pulling him into his chest. 

Sander doesn’t have the energy to fight him off. He doesn’t _want_ to, and with how he melts into Jens’s hold, it’s obvious he doesn’t have the energy to hide that either. Instead he curls his hands in Jens’s sweater and tugs him closer as he cries quietly, sobs shaking his shoulders but never quite making it past his lips. 

Jens hugs him tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other rubbing his back in comforting sweeps. He doesn’t say anything as Sander breaks down, doesn’t try to comfort or joke or shy away. He just holds him and lets him get it out, knowing that that’s the best reassurance he can give Sander. Jens might be an enigma, a confusing mixture of many things, but his loyalty has always been obvious to anyone who knows him. His unwavering presence is Sander’s best reminder of that at the moment, and he curls his hands in the fabric at Jens’s back with the knowledge that he isn’t going anywhere. 

“I’m sorry,” Sander croaks, after an age, with tears still wetting his cheeks. He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for, but he knows that he needs to. That it’s all he can say. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Sander, stop that. It’s okay,” Jens shushes him. “You’re okay.”

Sander just keeps his face pressed to Jens’s chest and his arms wrapped around him and hopes the touch can somehow convey his gratitude. He isn’t sure he can ever explain how grateful he is for Jens, at any time. But it shouldn’t stop him from trying. 

Jens presses a kiss to the top of his head and he remembers why he didn’t want this. Why he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it. Jens is here, but not for the reasons Sander wants him to be. Not out of anything more than friendship. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat and holds Jens tighter. 

“Is it okay if I lie with you?” Jens asks in a whisper. 

Sander has to squeeze his eyes shut again. There’s nothing he wants more. It’s all he’d wanted even before Jens showed up, even before Sander considered it a possibility that that was something Jens would do. He can’t bring himself to turn down the offer. Not even an offer. A request. He can’t deny that. Not when everything in him is screaming for Jens, begging him to accept the other’s comfort and take whatever he can get. He nods. 

Jens pulls away to take off his shoes, and Sander leans back and watches him, heart climbing into his throat. He stands up just to slide under the covers next to Sander, hesitating for only a second. 

Sander shimmies down until he can rest his head on his pillow again. Instead of wanting to pull the covers back up over his head, he lies on his side and looks at Jens. At the reassurance in his eyes and the softness of his smile. He can’t quite take the unusual tenderness of it, the intimacy of lying with Jens, fully clothed and looking at him like that. He’s used to Jens’s blissful gaze, smile happy and sated after sex, a lazy arm slung over his waist and sloppy kisses. Something about this is different, _better_ , and Sander’s already spinning thoughts and over-emotional state make tears spring back into his eyes. 

Jens’s smile turns sad again instantly and Sander’s heart gives a violent twist of protest. It’s soothed almost instantly when Jens lifts his arm and says, “Come here.”

Sander lets himself move an inch closer, and that’s enough permission for Jens to pull him in, one arm slipping under his head and the other curled tight around his waist. He kisses Sander’s forehead before tucking his head under his chin and dropping one more kiss onto his hair. Sander cuddles into his chest and takes another shuddering breath. 

“Better?” Jens asks.

Sander can only nod, because yes it’s better, of course it is. Everything is always better with Jens. He can settle all of Sander’s nerves with one look and reignite them with another. He can cause the heaviest weight in Sander’s chest and make him feel the lightest he’s ever felt. Jens is the only one who can kiss him and touch him and make him feel _loved_ , even though he knows he isn’t. 

“Good,” Jens gives him a squeeze. “I’m here, okay? Whether you want to talk or not. I’m very happy to have an excuse to lie in bed all day. Bonus points that it’s with you.”

Sander knows it’s only to cheer him up. He hates that it works. 

“Can you manage silence for that long?” Sander questions, trying his best to go along, to make an effort for Jens. For himself. To begin pushing himself back to normal. 

“I’m a quiet person. I can deal with silence.”

“You’re pretty loud, from my experience.”

Jens gasps, mockingly with a tinge of actual surprise. “We promised we’d keep that to the bedroom from now on.”

“We’re in my bedroom.”

“Good point,” Jens hums. “Guess you haven’t actually broken the rules then. Guess you also must be feeling a little better, if you’re up to teasing me.”

“It’s pretty easy. Doesn’t require too much effort.”

There’s a smile in Jens’s voice. “Well I’m very happy to be an easy source of amusement.” Sander hums, and isn’t quite able to stop himself from nuzzling into the crook of Jens’s neck. “I mean it, though. If you want to talk, talk. If you don’t, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Sander whispers. He doesn’t think he needs to say it’s for everything. For coming here, for staying, for being who he is. For being one of Sander’s best friends. For being the person Sander loves. 

“Anytime. Like I said, you always take care of us. Robbe wanted to come see you, too, but he’s been exhausted the past few days with midterms. But he wanted to be here, too.”

Sander’s heart softens. He’d forgotten, in all of his own angst, that the boys are in the middle of exams. He’d forgotten how hard Robbe pushes himself, that he was probably working himself into the ground. Yet, he’d still managed to think of Sander. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be okay. He’s just a bit like you. Overthinks. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just stressing himself out. But I’ve been forcing him to take breaks and actually sleep and his mom’s in a good place, so she’s looking out for him. You don’t have to worry about Robbe. I’m sure he’ll just be happy to see you whenever you’re up and about again.”

Sander takes a steadying breath and nods again, forcing himself to listen to Jens, to believe him. Then another realisation sinks in. “You have midterms, too.”

“Yeah, but, it’s fine. I only have one on Monday and I’m already fairly studied up for it. It’s fine, Sander.”

“You can’t fail your exams for me.”

Jens snorts. “I’m glad you have so much faith in me. I’m serious. They’re fine. It’s nice to get a break for myself. Stop worrying.”

Sander sighs, but lets it drop. He knows he could never manage to tell Jens to leave. Not now, with the boy’s arms wrapped around him, his heat fending off the icy grip around Sander’s heart and in his head. “I know this isn’t usually how we end up in bed together.”

Jens huffs a laugh. Sander can imagine the fond roll of his eyes. “No. It’s nice, though.”

It’s the nicest thing Sander has ever had the pleasure to experience. But he definitely can’t tell Jens that. Instead he says, “I knew you were a cuddler.”

“And you love it,” Jens tosses back easily, squeezing Sander again, as if to make his point. 

Sander doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have the energy to lie. 

“You know you can stop that whenever you want, right? And we can just let things go back to normal. I don’t want it to make things worse for you or for you to feel weird about it. I’m sure there are plenty of people lining up to go on dates with you. Some of your edgy, artsy classmates maybe. You can call it off anytime you want to.”

Jens says it all in a rush, a thread of awkward nervousness lined in his tone. Sander’s glad he’s pressed to his chest and can’t look at him, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to hide how his heart breaks at the mere thought if he had to look Jens in the eye. 

Sander simply responds, in as neutral a tone he can manage, “Same goes for you.” 

He contradicts his statement by tightening his hold on Jens, drawing him impossibly closer. He can’t help his thoughts from spiraling. Why would Jens even say something like that? Is it because he wants to break things off with Sander? Because he already has someone else in mind? Someone he wants to be with for real, to kiss casually and takes on dates and cuddle with just because he wants to? 

As if Jens can hear his burning thoughts, he says, “I just don’t want you to stress about it. If it’s having any effect on—“

“It’s not, Jens,” Sander lies. “It’s nothing to do with that. I have no problems with that. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” The smile is back in Jens’s voice. “That’s good.”

Sander isn’t going to cry again. 

He doesn’t know how he can miss Jens so much, feel such loss deep in his chest, when he’s right here next to him, holding him the way he’s always wanted. He doesn’t know why his heart breaks when Jens is trying to make him happy. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. He doesn’t know why he can’t change it. 

“I just really need you to be okay,” Jens says quietly, and Sander’s next breath gets caught in his throat.

“I’m okay. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Jens agrees. “And maybe I can offer you food. Would you consider eating some dinner if I went to all the effort of making it for you?”

“That sounds like blackmail.”

“It should. Does it work?”

Sander thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Depends. What would you be cooking?”

“Come on, Sander, as if I don’t know croques are your favourite.”

Despite everything, or because of this one thing, Sander finally lets himself smile. 

~^~

Jens may have a _slight_ problem. 

He probably doesn’t have this revelation when he should, which is when he actually spends that full day with Sander. He does nothing but hold him close and pet his hair and leave him random, soothing, _loving_ kisses. It’s nothing like their usual arrangement, like Sander said, not how they usually end up in bed together. Yet it sets his heart racing all the same, leaves a warmth spreading through his chest, eases his mind to have Sander close and know he’s okay. He should probably realise then that there’s something there, something beyond friendship that also has nothing to do with sex. 

He probably should have had this revelation long ago, somewhere _amidst_ the sex. When he realises he only ever seeks Sander out when he wants to hook up with someone. When the warm and pleasant feeling spreads into his chest when Sander looks at him after, draws him into a deep and lazy kiss. When the easy brush of Sander’s fingers against his skin sets his blood rushing even when there is no intent behind it. When Sander’s teasing smirks and suggestive jokes make Jens smile back, happy and bashful and exasperated all at once. 

There are many instances when he should realise it. That same day, when Jens does make Sander croques and sits cross legged next to him in his bed, feeding them to him bite my bite, just to drag out Sander’s smile. A few days after, when Jens finishes his midterms and Sander is well enough to be back out with them again, and he pulls Jens right into his side and presses a smacking kiss to his cheek in congratulations. Another day, when Lies comes home in tears because of her boyfriend and Sander has her laughing within minutes. Every moment that he’s with Sander could have been his moment of realisation. 

So of course it isn’t a moment that _he’s_ with Sander that it hits him. 

It’s when they’re once again at the skatepark and Jens is trying to explain a new trick to Moyo, when he catches sight of Sander with Robbe a few feet away. Robbe has his arms wrapped around Sander from behind, standing on his tiptoes to look over his shoulder, down at the camera in his hands. Sander is trying his best to hide it from him, covering it with his hands and twisting around, laughing. Robbe starts laughing too as he tries to hang onto him and Sander spins around, wrapping him in a hug instead and holding the camera behind Robbe’s back. Jens can hear Robbe’s giggly complaints and see the edge of Sander’s smile. 

His heart pangs, twists. Hurt by the sight. 

He comes to two abrupt realisations. 

The first is that somehow, stupidly, at some stage, he’d fallen for Sander. 

The second is that Sander’s heart very clearly belongs to Robbe, and that those feelings are very likely returned. 

Moyo hits his shoulder. “Hey, man, where’d you go?”

Jens turns back to him, shaking his head. “Nowhere, sorry.”

“Ugh,” Moyo rolls his eyes, having followed Jens’s gaze. There’s an exasperated smile on his lips. “They really need to get their shit together already. Do they even realise how obvious they both are?”

Jens stays silent. He hadn’t realised, until seconds ago. He hadn’t wanted to see it, he thinks. Now that he’s noticed, he realises it can’t possibly be a new development. He doesn’t even know how he didn’t notice before. 

God, he’s a terrible person. 

He’s also incredibly stupid. 

God, god, how did he let this happen? No wonder Sander was dubious at the beginning. What the hell has _he_ been thinking, though? He must have no idea Robbe returns his feelings. Can he really be that blind? 

God, what are they going to do when Robbe finds out that they’ve been sleeping together?

They can never tell him, Jens realises. The last thing he’s ever wanted to do is to hurt Robbe. Or to hurt _Sander._ How did he never notice? Why did Sander never tell him? Jens would never have initiated anything with Sander if he’d known. He isn’t that thoughtless, that heartless. He knows that Sander isn’t either. That he would never dream of hurting Robbe. Even if he thinks his feelings are unreturned, Jens doesn’t understand how Sander can be okay with sleeping with _him_. What does that make Jens, to Sander? A comfort? Some next best thing?

No, Jens thinks. He isn’t even that. He’s just someone Sander sleeps with when he feels like it, because he can. 

The thought stirs the barest hint of anger in him. It slips away quickly. He can’t be mad at Sander. He has no right to be. 

He’s the one that started it. 

Is it possible, Jens thinks, that Sander doesn’t even realise his own feelings? No, that can’t be it, either. Jens thinks back to what Sander had told him forever ago, when he’d been heartbroken over Jana and Sander was there, and Jens had kissed him for the first time. 

He remembers, _When you’re in love, the last thing you want to think of is it ending. You can’t even imagine it. Not loving them anymore._ He remembers being floored by the words. He remembers thinking, _Who are you in love with?_

Of course. Of course he should have known. 

That was over a year ago, now. 

Jens has really made a terrible, stupid mistake. Not only has he been sleeping with his best friend, who is in love with his other best friend and who his other best friend is in love with, no. It’s ten times worse than that. It’s a hundred times worse. 

He’s fallen in love with Sander, too. 

~^~

Sander lies on Robbe’s bed and stares at the ceiling, tossing his pencil into the air over and over and catching it one-handed. Robbe sits at his desk, scribbling away in a notebook. Sander had been drawing since they got back from the skatepark, but his sketches had begun to get messy and repetitive and he decided he probably needs a break. Instead he’s been lying watching Robbe, humming quietly to himself. He’d been worried it would annoy Robbe, interrupt his homework, but he’d only glanced over at Sander with a smile. 

He snaps his notebook shut now and stacks it with his textbook in a neat pile on the side of his desk. He spins his chair around and kicks at Sander’s feet. Sander lets his legs slip off the side of the bed with only mild grumbling, and Robbe gets up and sits cross-legged on the bed next to him. He lifts Sander’s sketchbook off the sheets and turns it over to look at what Sander was drawing earlier. It’s a half-finished drawing of Jens, most of an outline with sporadic bits of shading and a large ‘X’ over the whole thing. 

Robbe looks up at him and raises a brow. “You planning on killing him?”

Sander shrugs, sighs. “Might solve some of my problems.”

Robbe laughs. “I think he’d be very hurt to hear that.”

Sander smiles and rolls his eyes. He doubts that. He’s sure Jens would simply laugh it off like Robbe’s doing. He wouldn’t understand what Sander meant, either. 

Robbe pokes his side, clearing his throat. “So, uh. How are things going? With Jens?” 

“Uh,” Sander raises a brow. “Fine? I guess? Don’t you talk to me as much as me?”

“No, uh, I mean...I mean _you and Jens._ ”

Sander blinks. “Me and Jens?”

Robbe groans. “Come on, Sander. I’m trying here.”

“Trying what?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the two of you, sneaking around! You always leave at the same time. If one of you disappears at a party so does the other. And don’t think I haven’t seen all the looks you give each other. I know you’re affectionate, too, but something has definitely changed. I just don’t understand why neither of you have _told_ me about it.”

Sander’s jaw drops. Of course. Of course Robbe knows. Sander is stupid for thinking he could hide it from him. Robbe has always been the most perceptive member of the group, has always been the one to pay the most attention to his friends, quiet as he is himself. He also knows what’s going on with Sander, is always in tune to what he needs, and he’s just as good with Jens. Of course he would have noticed both of them acting strange, disappearing. 

He opens his mouth to respond, to explain, and Robbe says, “Do you think I’d be mad you guys are together, or something?”

Sander struggles. “We’re not—Jens isn’t—“ He can’t tell Robbe anything without outing Jens, he realises. It doesn’t matter that it’s Robbe. That isn’t his choice. 

“Jens told me he was bi four months ago. Or at least that he was pretty sure. We’ve talked about it since that.”

At this stage, Sander’s jaw is going to break, with how quickly it falls open again. “You talk about it?” He shouldn’t really be surprised. He should be happy that Jens is comfortable enough to talk about it with Robbe. They’ve spoken about it a little, too, when they take time to talk. He’s just a little confused as to why Jens never mentioned telling Robbe. 

“Yeah? I mean, only really once or twice. Just when he brings it up himself. I know it’s definitely not my place to push, y’know? That’s why I haven’t asked any of you about it. I kinda figured he was maybe subtly telling me…I mean he told me he’d mentioned it to you too and didn’t elaborate, so,” Robbe shrugs. 

“No,” Sander shakes his head. “No. That’s not it. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Robbe furrows his brows. “What do you mean? What am I thinking?”

“Definitely not what’s actually happening. Not in your innocent baby brain,” Sander reaches up to pinch his cheek. 

Robbe bats him away, smiling curiously. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

Sander isn’t even sure what that means. He’s unsure of everything when it comes to Jens. “It means we aren’t secretly dating, or anything like that.”

“But?” Robbe prompts. 

“But we have been having sex, occasionally.”

Robbe’s brow arches. “Occasionally.”

Sander hums.

“But you aren’t dating.” 

Sander shakes his head. 

“So you’re like...friends with benefits? That kind of situation?”

“Uhm,” Sander blinks. He’d never really thought about it, label wise. He’d just thought about the labels he _couldn’t_ use. Like ‘boyfriend’. “I guess.”

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Robbe points out, worriedly, and this isn’t exactly the reaction Sander expected. “Like either of you, really. You’re both lovers. I didn’t think you’d go for a relationship just based on…sex. Except it’s not, I guess. Because you’re also best friends.”

Sander hums again. He already knows all this, has thought about it countless times. How strange it is, how wrong it is, how stupid it is. From the beginning, Sander had thought, _At least I can have him like this. If I can’t have him how I want him, at least I can have this._ Even when he thought it was something he would only get once. In his mind, it had been enough. Something more than nothing. 

He hadn’t thought about it continuing, tricking him into thinking it was something he might be able to have forever. That Jens would keep coming back to him and that that meant something. It doesn’t mean anything, other than maybe Sander’s good at sex, but people have told him that before Jens. The only difference is he never cared as much about those people. Not like he cares about Jens. 

He knew from the beginning that it was a bad idea. That he was taking advantage. Tricking Jens. But he can never be the one to say no. He can never put a stop to it. He wants all that he can get, for as long as he can manage. He’s holding onto any kind of relationship with Jens for as long as he can. 

“Doesn’t that scare you? Isn’t that weird?” Robbe asks, seeming genuinely concerned. 

Sander supposes he should’ve expected that. Robbe not only cares about them both deeply, but he’s also their best friend. They’ve always been a trio. If Jens or Sander are stupid about this, it’s possible a rift would be created with Robbe in the middle. Neither Sander or Jens would ever purposefully put him there, but it would be inevitable. 

Which is another reason Sander absolutely cannot mess this up. 

Which is why he hates himself, because he’s already messed up by letting it happen in the first place. 

He brings his hands up to cover his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, Robbe, it’s a mess. I’ve fucked up so bad.”

“Hey, what?” Robbe’s voice is soft, and so is his touch as he gently guides Sander’s hands away from his face, looking down at him with a deeper concern. “I’m sure you haven’t fucked anything up, Sander. Why would you say that?”

“Because I thought it would be enough. I thought it would just be one time and I could have that and it would be enough. Then it kept happening, and I thought, okay, I can have this while Jens wants it, and at least I’ll remember this when it ends. But it isn’t what I wanted, Robbe. I didn’t want this.”

Robbe softens even further. He’s unbearably gentle when he says, understanding, “You do have feelings for him.”

Sander squeezes his eyes shut again, feels tears in the very back of his throat. “I fucked up, Robbe,” he whispers. 

“Hey,” Robbe says again, just as quiet, before he’s pulling Sander up and wrapping his arms around him, holding him against his chest. Sander leans against him and accepts the comfort he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t deserve either of them. The two people that love him most, that mean the world to him. He doesn’t deserve either of them. 

“Do you think Jens doesn’t feel the same way, or what?”

“I know he doesn’t. He told me that we could stop it whenever I want, that I must want to date someone else again. It doesn’t mean anything to him.”

Robbe hugs him tighter. “Sander, I can’t believe that’s true. I mean, it’s Jens. You know him as well as I do. You know he isn’t like that.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Sander admits. He wraps his hand around Robbe’s arm, the one stretched across his chest, and tells himself he isn’t going to cry again. “I just don’t want to hurt him. And I don’t want to get hurt. But if he finds out, if he realises that this whole time I—that I _like_ him, he—“ Sander cuts himself off, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t think about it. 

“Sander,” Robbe murmurs. “I think you should talk to him. I _thought_ you guys were already together. It seemed obvious, in the way he looks at you, touches you, _exists_ with you. I’ve only ever seen Jens like that when there are real feelings involved. You know you aren’t just sex to him. I _know_ that you know that.”

“It’s been too long, now. It’s been that whole four months, Robbe. And I’ve been in love with him for over a _year_. I can’t explain that to him. I can’t tell him that. He’ll never forgive me, Robbe.”

“Sander, I’m sure if you just—“

“Please,” Sander cuts him off. “Please, Robbe,” he begs.

Robbe’s quiet for a moment. Then he gives Sander’s shoulders a squeeze. “Okay. Okay, Sander. What are you going to do, then?”

“I can’t do anything. I have no explanation for breaking it off. But I’m sure that—that Jens will want to date someone eventually. Soon, probably. Then he’ll put a stop to it and I...I’ll move on.”

“Just like that?” Robbe questions, dubious. “Just move on?”

“What else can I do?”

Robbe sighs, and Sander hears the _I’ve already told you what to do_. But he doesn’t say anything else, and Sander is grateful. 

His plan is settled, then. He’ll wait for the inevitable day that Jens finds someone he really wants and tells Sander he isn’t interested in doing anything with him anymore. Then Sander will smile and look happy for him, maybe come crying into Robbe’s arms for a while, and then he’ll move on. 

Just like that. 

~^~

Jens comes out of the school and sees Sander at the gate. Jens pauses in his steps, every cell in his body locking up. He hasn’t seen Sander since Saturday, at the skatepark. 

He catches sight of Jens and grins, pushing himself off the bars and meeting him in the middle of the courtyard. Jens shakes his head at him, raising a brow. “What are you doing here?”

Sander shrugs. “It’s Wednesday, so I thought I’d come and see if you guys wanna go out for lunch or something.”

“You didn’t wanna just text? It would’ve saved you the trip.”

“Maybe I just couldn’t wait to see you,” Sander teases, with that suggestive tone and signature smirk that instantly gains Jens’s interest. He hates the shiver of heat that shoots up his spine, the fluttery excitement that knots in his stomach, the pleased skip of his heart. It isn’t the same. He isn’t allowed to feel these things. He isn’t allowed to really want Sander, like this. For all of him. It’s not fair to anyone. He should shut him down. 

He can’t quite bring himself to do it. 

Before he even realises what decision he’s making, he’s taking Sander by the wrist and dragging him along the side of the school, to the locker rooms at the back. After a quick look around to confirm that it’s empty, he pulls Sander in and lets the door fall shut behind them before shrugging his bag off his shoulder and catching the blonde in a kiss. Sander lets out a tiny huff, still smiling against his lips, and Jens bites at his and tangles their tongues together in retaliation. 

_One last time_ , Jens tells himself. _One last time, and then I’ll tell him it’s over. Then I’ll let him go. I’ll let him be happy._

He tangles his hand in the short hair at the back of Sander’s head and sets the other on his neck, pulling him in closer and closer. Sander makes a sound, a hum or a moan or some mixture of the two, and backs Jens up. The back of his legs hit a bench and he almost topples over it, tilting backwards and making a desperate grab at Sander’s shoulders. Sander catches him in time, laughing against his mouth, and pulls him away and towards a set of lockers. Before he can be backed up against it, Jens flips them around and pushes Sander against the metal, trailing his lips across his cheek, right over to spot behind his ear. Sander grabs at his hips and pulls him closer, head falling back against the lockers with a clang, and Jens wonders who else has seen him like this. Who else he’s bared himself to like this. He knows none of this is his alone. 

The thought only makes him kiss Sander harder. 

He pushes the collar of his jacket out of the way, tugs down the top of his shirt, and begins doing everything he can to leave a mark. Sander curses, curling his hands around the back of Jens’s thighs. “That’s new,” he breathes. 

So, he won’t be able to wear any wide-neck tops for a few days. They’re not really his style anyways. Jens needs to do this. To prove to himself that Sander has been his, once, for a while, in a way. He needs to leave his mark. He wants to burn himself into Sander’s skin, to melt against him and stay there forever. As a part of Sander and nothing more. 

What’s he going to be without Sander, anyway?

_When you’re in love, the last thing you want to think of is it ending. You can’t even imagine it. Not loving them anymore._

Sander reaches for the button on Jens’s jeans and Jens steps away from him, breathless. “Fuck, hang on. Christ. I’m not fucking you here.”

Sander raises a brow, holding his hands up innocently. “Okay? Why did you drag me in here and try to devour me, then?”

“To make sure you didn’t make those lunch plans with anyone.”

“So you do want to have sex, and you were stealing me away.”

Jens raises his brow, hopefully appearing more confident, more nonchalant, than he feels. “Problem?”

Sander smiles crookedly. “Your place or mine?”

They only make it through the door to Jens’s bedroom before they’re kissing again, lips finding each other feverishly and jumpers being stripped off. Something in Jens settles when he gets his hands on Sander’s skin, when Sander’s lips are leaving a burning trail down his chest. He feels liquid in the mattress, malleable, and he lets Sander mold him as he pleases, finding his way back to Jens’s mouth when he reaches the top of Jens’s jeans. 

And suddenly, Jens can’t do it. 

“Wait,” he says, turning his head to the side, away from Sander’s seeking mouth. “Wait, fuck, stop.”

He pushes Sander off of him and sits up, raising shaking hands to his face as he takes a few panicked breaths. Sander sits quietly and doesn’t try to touch him, and Jens is thankful. He feels too naked, suddenly, too bare, too vulnerable. He turns to sit on the edge of the bed and scrambles at the floor for his sweater, tugging it quickly on over his head. He braces his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and attempts to pull himself together. 

“Jens?” Sander questions hesitantly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Jens curls his fingers in the sides of his hair. “No. I just—I don’t want to.”

“Okay. Did anything in particular...change your mind?”

“No. We just shouldn’t do this, Sander. We should never have been doing this.”

Sander sits quietly, unmoving from his spot behind him. Jens can’t bring himself to look at him. He doesn’t want to know what his expression looks like right now, whether it’s annoyance or disappointment or relief. He especially doesn’t want to see the relief. He’ll do something stupid, if he looks at him. Like scream, or give in and kiss him again, or cry. Nothing that’s going to help either of them, that’s for sure. 

“I know that I started it, that I came to you, but I shouldn’t have. It was an unfair thing to ask in the first place. And dangerous. The last thing I ever want to do is mess up our friendship. I can’t do that, Sander. I can’t lose you.” His voice cracks just slightly, and he moves his hands away from his hair before he has the ridiculous thought to start tearing it out. 

Sander finally moves, crawling over the bed to sit next to Jens and rest a hand on his shoulder. “Lose me? Why would you lose me? I agreed to this. I would never let it ruin things between us. I would never let anything ruin things between us. Are you really worried about that?”

Jens swallows and lifts his head, letting his hands drop to grip his knees. He still can’t look at Sander. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Sander retracts his hand. 

After a few seconds of silence, Jens finally looks over at him. He’s not looking at Jens, but rather some fixed point Jens can’t see, staring off with his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Jens tugs the ends of his sleeves down over his hands and keeps his gaze there. “It’s just best. If we take a step back. It’s not like we were ever going to be...fuck buddies forever.”

Sander seems to flinch slightly. Then he snaps back to himself, straightening up as he nods. “No,” he says distantly. “We weren’t.”

Jens nods, too, even as his heart begins to crack open his chest. Sander stands up and collects his sweater, beige, always colourless next to Jens’s bright bursts of red. A contrasting combination. Always light and dark. 

Jens knows Sander sometimes thinks he holds all the darkness of the world inside him. Sometimes he does see the light in him dim. But Sander is a sun beam compared to Jens. Jens is as dangerously empty as the night; he would suck that light out of him. 

Sander returns to sit on the bed next to him. They stay side by side, both staring at the wall, Jens hunched over and Sander ramrod straight, picking at a thread in his jeans. After a moment, Sander speaks up. “Can I just ask you something?”

Jens nods. 

“Why now?”

Jens takes a breath, in and out through his nose, prolonged and purposeful. Then he forces himself to meet Sander’s gaze. “Are you in love with someone?”

Sander goes very still, and Jens knows he’s hit the nail on the head. 

“Someone you’re already very close to?” Jens prompts. 

Sander turns his head to stare at him, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Why?” he croaks. “Why are you asking me this?”

Jens shakes his head, looking away as the backs of his eyes prickle. “You should have told me, Sander. I would never have—messing up and hurting you would’ve been bad enough, but hurting both of you? What would he think if he finds out?”

Jens looks back at Sander just to see his brain record-scratch. He blinks at Jens comically, lips parting and closing like a fish before he finally manages to ask, “What? If—if who finds out?”

“ _Robbe_ ,” Jens says, exasperated. 

Sander simply stares at him. Then he lets out an abrupt, tiny laugh. “You,” he stops, laughs again. “You think I’m in love with Robbe?”

Jens freezes. This is not the reaction he was expecting. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Sander laughs. “Why did—what made you think that?”

“Because—everything,” Jens gestures. “That day, after Jana broke up with me when I kissed you the first time, you were talking about being in love like you knew from experience. And I always wondered who you were talking about. Who you couldn’t imagine not loving. And I guessed it had to be someone you knew for a long time, that you’d felt like that for a while, and then I saw you together the other day at the skatepark and it clicked. I realised I should’ve noticed it the whole time.”

Sander seems to consider this for a moment, eyes flitting all over Jens as he thinks, before he shakes his head. “Jens, I’m not in love with Robbe. Robbe and I aren’t in love.”

“Okay, I figured you didn’t notice his feelings, but you don’t have to lie—“

“He doesn’t have any feelings for me, Jens.” When Jens goes to protest again, Sander presses a hand over his mouth. “I know he doesn’t because I’ve talked to him about the person I’m in love with.”

Jens blinks. Then his brows furrow. Sander slowly draws his hand back. 

Has he really gotten it all wrong?

He’d been _so sure_. He was absolutely positive, after that day, that it’s what he’d been missing all along. It seemed so natural, the obvious conclusion. Even Moyo thought it was the case. So what does it mean, now, that none of that is true?

If not Robbe, then who could Sander possibly love?

“Then...who?”

Sander’s expression softens. His lips part once, then press into a small smile. More hesitant than Jens has ever seen him, and in almost too quiet a voice for Jens to hear, he says, “I’ve always had two best friends.”

For a moment, the world stops spinning. 

Then it resumes at full speed, throwing Jens off balance. His whole center of gravity has been torn away, and he feels dizzy and breathless and floaty. His only tether to the earth is Sander, the bright green eyes still locked on his the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him in place. Reminding him he isn’t dreaming. He can never quite get those eyes right, in his dreams. 

There’s no mistaking what that means. There’s nothing else Sander could be implying with that. Jens has always had two best friends, too. 

“Me?”

Sander nods, lips pressed together. “I thought you’d figured it out. That it’s why you want to stop. When you said you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I thought you were...letting me down gently. Which, you don’t have to do. I know that you don’t—“

Before he can start speaking nonsense, Jens pulls him in and kisses him. 

This is nothing like their other kisses, except maybe their first. Sander makes a soft, surprised noise against Jens’s mouth and Jens keeps his touch gentle, his kiss careful, until Sander hesitantly kisses back. Jens cups his jaw and strokes his thumb over his cheek and Sander’s hands find their usual spots on his waist and Jens thinks _this_. This is what’s been missing. This kiss is still with a lot of intent, but a very different kind. 

The purpose of this kiss is reassurance. For Sander, that Jens isn’t going to push him away. For Jens, that this is real. 

The purpose of this kiss is a promise. For them both. 

“Thanks,” Jens says, lips still half attached to Sander’s, “for making sure I’m not the only idiot here.”

Sander huffs and pushes Jens’s face away, smiling. “You really know how to fucking ruin a moment, huh?” 

Jens just grins and reels him in for another kiss. It isn’t as gentle this time, not as careful, but still softer. Slow. There’s nothing rushed or hurried or dirty about it. For the first time, they allow themselves to take their time, to discover each other. To be tender. Jens has never felt anything quite like it. He’d thought he’d gotten used to Sander’s kisses, but he hadn’t realised how much Sander had been holding back. There’s a new reverence to his touch as he cups Jens’s neck, a new sense of emotion in the press of his lips. Jens doesn’t know how he didn’t realise that when Sander really meant it, he would kiss with his whole being. Jens can’t get enough. He tries to give back just as much. 

“In case it isn’t clear,” Jens whispers, “I think I might love you too.”

Sander raises a brow. He’s still smiling. “You think you might?”

Jens flops back on the bed and draws Sander with him. Sander lies with his hand behind his head, looking at Jens. Jens reaches up and brushes a hand through his hair, just because he can. Sander leans into the touch with a smile. Jens licks his lips and says, “I guess I haven’t really been coming to terms with it for as long as you have, but yeah. I think I might.”

Sander nods, hair tickling Jens’s hand. He turns his head and presses a kiss to Jens’s wrist, letting his lips curve up against his skin. “I’m glad you figured it out.”

Jens snorts, rolling onto his side so he can kiss him again. Sander mimics him, hands curling in the front of Jens’s jumper. He only lasts a moment before giving in and pushing Jens onto his back, moving to hover over him. Jens parts his legs enough for Sander to slide his between them—instinctually. They’ve done things backwards, but at least they got there. At least they got here. 

The realisation makes Jens pause. “Hey,” he nudges his nose against Sander’s, indicating for him to lean back. Sander groans, but obeys, and Jens asks, “Have you really had feelings for me the whole time?”

Sander’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t hide away. He gazes down at Jens as he nods. “Yeah, I have. I don’t even know how long I’ve had feelings for you. It’s been a while.”

“And you agreed to this? I mean, you agreed to just sleep with me that one time? How?”

Sander shrugs. He dips down to kiss Jens’s collarbone, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “I knew once you had sex with me once, you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Jens scoffs and slaps his cheek lightly, making him laugh. He’s a little bit pissed that Sander’s right. “That’s bullshit, but I’ll let you have it. For now.”

Sander grins, kisses his cheek, makes his way back to his mouth. Everything between them might have changed, but Jens’s body still recognises Sander, reacts just the same to his touch and his kiss and his weight. That’s to say, with quite a lot of interest. 

“Would it be really awful of me—” Sander kisses him, “—to ask you to take your clothes off again?”

Jens snorts as Sander lifts his head just enough to see his smirk. Jens wiggles his brows up at him. “Not so much, if you take yours off first.”

Sander leans back on his knees and strips his jumper off in an instant.

~^~

Sander sees Robbe first. He’s stood at the top of a ramp, holding his skateboard at his side as he cheers for someone still out of Sander’s sight. Moyo sits next to him, some kind of sandwich clutched in his hands, already mostly gone. Sander walks up to them. Robbe must hear him coming, turning when Sander is still a few feet away and greeting him with a smile. “Hey,” he chirps, sweet as ever. Sander pulls him into a quick side hug and looks out at the ramp. 

His lips instantly turn up in a grin when he catches sight of the raven-haired boy, at the opposite side, flicking his board under his feet before he’s racing back down the ramp and up towards them. He stops himself in front of them, kicking his board up and catching the top of it, grinning at Sander all the while. 

“Hi,” Sander greets, smiling back, already reaching for him. Jens ducks down and gives him a quick kiss. Sander makes a tiny sound of protest when Jens pulls away, tugging at the front of his hoodie. Jens laughs and kisses him again, longer and a little deeper. Toe-curling. Sander finally feels himself settle. 

He hears Moyo groan loudly, and then something hits his arm, light and quick, just enough to get his attention. He pulls back from Jens and looks at the now empty sandwich wrapper on the ground before raising a brow at Moyo. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes. Hundred percent. I have your food, so if you want it you’re going to have to sit the fuck down and stop sucking face.”

Sander turns back to his boyfriend, incredulous. “You gave Moyo my food?”

Jens shrugs, not an ounce of apology in him. “He was sitting here, I was busy. Besides, Robbe was with him the whole time.”

Sander turns to Robbe. Robbe nods. Sander sighs, and moves to sit down on the edge of the ramp. He holds his hand out to Moyo. Moyo slaps the sandwich into his palm. 

It hadn’t taken much time for them to tell the boys, once they properly got together. In fact, it had been that same night that they’d told Robbe. After coming down from their high and trading more of those blissfully soft kisses, after discussing their feelings in full and making sure they were on the same page. They hadn’t told Robbe so much as that Robbe had _known_ , taking one look at Jens’s smile and the mark on Sander’s neck and wrapping them both in a bone-crushing hug. 

A few days after that, Jens had come out to Moyo and Aaron by telling them about their relationship. Aaron had stared at them, gobsmacked, before offering them both high fives, and that had been that. Moyo had been even more surprised. Then he’d turned to Jens and begun demanding why he’d let him think Sander was into Robbe. 

In the two months since then, it’s become normal. It’s just them. 

Jens sits down next to him now and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “So am I forgiven?”

Sander looks over at him, narrows his eyes. After a moment of consideration, he says, “I’m sure I’ll think of a way for you to make up for it.”

Moyo groans again. “Please, my food is going to come back up.”

Sander and Jens laugh as Robbe smacks the back of his head, wriggling his way into the space between Sander and Moyo. “Where’s Aaron?” Sander asks, as he finally gets his food unwrapped enough to take a bite. 

“Ditched us for his girlfriend,” Robbe says, sighing. “I really have no idea how that works.”

“I don’t get it at all, man,” Moyo agrees, shaking his head. “How the fuck did Aaron get a girlfriend before me?”

The others all laugh and Moyo shoots them an unimpressed look. “Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Sander suggests. 

“Or you’re not trying hard enough,” Jens counters. 

“Or you should just stop trying,” Robbe shrugs. 

Moyo shoves him as the rest dissolve into giggles again. “I don’t see you with a boyfriend, either.”

“Hey,” Robbe argues, “I’m an honorary member of their relationship.” He nods his head at Sander and Jens. Sander reaches out and ruffles his hair, pulling him into his side just long enough for him to stick his tongue out at Moyo. Jens adds to the display by pinching Robbe’s cheek. 

“And why have I not been let in on this?” Moyo asks, disgraced. 

“Hey,” Jens shakes his head. “That’s enough sharing my boyfriend now, thanks.”

“How do you know it’s not you I’m interested in?” Moyo raises a brow, blowing him a kiss. 

This time it’s Sander that says, “Hey.”

Jens laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek. Sander can’t resist turning his head and catching his lips, just lightly, just for a moment. He feels Robbe slip away from his side and uses his now free hand to cup Jens’s jaw. Jens pulls back before he can deepen the kiss, giving him a pointed look. He strokes the back of Sander’s neck and presses a kiss to his temple as Sander drops his head onto his shoulder briefly. He draws himself away and blows out a sigh, resigning himself to waiting, before he can get Jens alone. 

But the taste of Jens is a permanent stain on his lips, and Sander can feel the phantom of his touch even when they’re not together. It’s something he’s so used to, now, that it’s simply ingrained in him. Jens’s lips against his temple, Jens’s arm around his shoulders, Jens’s hand in his. All simple things, all casual, minor touches. All things Sander never thought he’d have. He’s always known he loved Jens. He’d just never imagined the possibility of Jens loving him back. 

Now—in the middle of a public space, with their friends next to them and Jens’s arm a reassuring weight, his presence warm and steady at Sander’s side—there isn’t an ounce of doubt in Sander’s heart. They were never just friends with benefits, because he’s always been in love with Jens. But somewhere along the way, Jens had fallen in love with him, too. 

Just like that.


End file.
